


shaft

by leiascully



Series: I Like You Under My Skin [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has his own ideas about how to notify the higher-ups about their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shaft

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: AUish for the movie, avoiding SPOILERY events  
> A/N: I'm pretty sure the third date isn't actually fellatio, but maybe it should be.  
> Disclaimer: _The Avengers_ and all related characters are property of Marvel Studios and Joss Whedon. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Clint wakes up the minute Phil rolls out of bed - he's always been a light sleeper, he wouldn't have survived otherwise - but then he goes back to sleep. If Phil's going to kick him out, which he doubts, Phil can damn well wake him up to do it. But the next time Clint opens his eyes, Phil's sitting there with a very large cup of coffee. He's dressed in a bathrobe, which is unexpectedly adorable, and he's smiling broadly.

"Morning," he says.

"Morning," Clint says, sliding up enough to take the cup of coffee from Phil and bring it to his mouth.

"I was a little afraid you'd be gone when I woke up," Phil says conversationally. 

Clint clears his throat and takes a long swallow of coffee. "You can't get rid of me that easily, boss."

"I'm glad," Phil says. His eyes travel up and down Clint's body and really, this is the best start to a day that Clint has had in a long time. He's got coffee, and it's good, too. He's still naked. Phil Coulson is sitting next to him on the bed looking deliciously rumpled, and the expression on his face promises that there will be a lot more mornings like this. Clint is expecting to wake up at any moment, or for the phone to ring with the news that some kind of killer insectoids are devouring downtown LA, because that's the way his life usually goes, but he breathes in and out and the only thing that changes is that he feels happier and happier.

"So," Phil says. "I'd like to see you again, if that's all right."

Clint stares at him. "You're kidding, right."

"No," Phil says. "I would like to see you again."

"Jesus, Phil," Clint says. "Of course that's all right. It's more than all right. Fuck, that was basically the best night of my entire life." He shakes his head sadly. "And to think I thought you weren't an idiot."

Phil glares playfully at him. "I'd have to be something of an idiot to stay in this job."

"But you'd be a bigger idiot if you didn't stay in this bed," Clint says, setting his cup of coffee on Phil's bedside table, where Phil has helpfully provided a coaster. He waits for Phil to do the same and then pulls Phil down on top of him, relishing the feel of the plush terrycloth robe against his skin and the weight of Phil inside it. The fact that the robe is easy to remove is just a bonus. In not very long at all, he's running his hands all over Phil, which Phil seems to enjoy just as much as Clint does. He pulls Phil's head down and kisses him lingeringly, slow lazy morning kisses.

"We'll probably have to tell someone about this," Phil murmurs.

"Well, Nat," Clint says. "She's gonna find out one way or the other, and I'd rather avoid that pain."

"Someone official," Phil corrects him. "I'm sure there's some kind of regulation about fucking your handler."

"It's going to be really hard to fuck you if I don't handle you," Clint points out, just to be an asshole. 

"It hasn't been an issue before because you're all pretty much invariably unbearable," Phil says, squeezing Clint's ass. 

"How do you put up with me," Clint deadpans, sliding his fingers up the inside of Phil's thigh and around Phil's balls until Phil squirms.

"It's a struggle," Phil says. "I might have to invest in some restraints. And I'm serious, Barton. I don't want either one of us to lose our jobs over this."

"That would solve your problem, though," Clint says.

"I'm going to have to tell Director Fury, probably," Phil says.

They both contemplate that for a moment.

"What if we send him a letter," Clint suggests. "From another country. And we won't put a return address on it."

Phil sighs. "There's probably paperwork to fill out."

"You love paperwork," Clint reminds him. "For a long time after we met, I thought you were paperwork-sexual."

"You did not," Phil reprimands. "You flirted with me constantly."

"I held out a hope," Clint says. "I can't help how good my game is."

"I have no comment on that," Phil says, shaking his head. "But let me remind you we wouldn't even be here except for my intelligence gathering. For someone observant, you were extremely short-sighted when it came to you and me."

"Usually the things I need to see aren't right in front of me," Clint says, kissing him. "I'll take care of it."

Phil squints at him. "You hate paperwork."

"No, I don't," Clint corrects him. "I just liked watching your face when you saw all the mistakes I'd made. You're cute when you're working."

Phil lets out a long-suffering sigh. "It's too much to hope that you're going to start using your words when you want something, isn't it."

"I'm a man of few words," Clint tells him solemnly. "On the plus side, I'm a man of many actions, which I'd be happy to demonstrate."

"We're going to be late for work," Phil says, but there's a little smile playing around his lips.

"They'll call if they need us," Clint says, rolling him over and pinning him. "Sex. Breakfast. Maybe some more sex, because we're gonna need showers anyway. Then work. How many times have you ever been late, anyway?"

"Never," Phil admits.

"Live a little, boss," Clint says. "Here, I'll show you."

Phil seems to really appreciate the demonstration. They are extremely late to work, and Nat corners Clint as soon as he strolls in the doors to the lounge.

"I know that shit-eating grin," she says. "You got laid last night."

"The fact that I didn't reply to any of your twenty-seven texts should have tipped you off on that one," he says cheerfully.

"I'd ask how it was," she says, "but I guess I don't really have to. The expression on your face is pretty sickening. Are you about to start whistling? Because if you do, I'll probably have to punch you. Fair warning."

"It was the best _ever_ ," Clint says, throwing himself down on the couch.

"People in love are so gross," Nat complains, leaning over the back of the couch.

"You're just saying that because you haven't scored with Rogers yet," Clint points out. 

"That's not love," Nat corrects him. "He's honestly a great guy, but that's not what I'm looking for with him."

"Don't tell me you still believe in true love," Clint teases her.

She punches him in the arm. "Shut up. I'm allowed to believe what I want. At least I'll know it if I see it. Not like you, _Hawkeye_."

"Everybody's a critic," he says contentedly. "What are we doing today?"

"Banner volunteered for cleanup duty," Nat says. "He says we broke it, we can at least pick up the pieces. Rogers is helping him because he's got a heart of pure fucking gold and Thor's helping them because he's got a stupid hammer, so why not. Stark is in his lab or possibly in St. Tropez - he was on the phone with Pepper on his way out the door talking about bikinis, so it's kind of a tossup. Fury said to stay close, but I guess when you've got a private jet, you don't give a damn about that."

"No major crises?"

"Not yet," she tells him. "I'm sure there will be something, though."

"Isn't there always," he murmurs.

"Speaking of crises," she says, "are you gonna tell Fury?"

"Why is everyone concerned about that?" Clint complains.

Nat rolls her eyes. "I know you're a circus freak, but in civilized military society, we have frat regs. You're not supposed to fuck your boss. It's an abuse of power."

Clint ticks his points off on his fingers. "He can't promote me. He can't fire me. He can't reassign me. He can't demote me." He shrugs. "The worst thing he can do is tell me to take a risk I shouldn't take, and I trust him not to do that."

"What if he tells you not to take a risk and that's what makes everything go pear-shaped?" Nat asks him. "Protect yourself. It's the fact that he doesn't want something to happen to you that makes it dangerous. Not giving a damn is a lot more likely to get you out of a bad situation. You know that. I know that. Coulson knows it too. And Nick Fury probably knows it best of all."

"I'm working on it," Clint says. "It's not like we're married yet." 

"Yet," Nat says. "Exactly. I know you. You're dumb with your heart, Barton. You want to give it away and he's got open hands."

"So you disapprove?" Clint asks.

"Of course not," Nat tells him. "Stop sulking. You know I know he's a great guy and he's worth it. Just be careful. I know you've been waiting a long time for this. I don't want it to be over tomorrow."

"I could be dead tomorrow," Clint reminds her. "Any one of us could be."

"Nah," Nat says easily. "I'll pull you out of it. You and me, Barton. We made a promise, didn't we?"

"We did," he says, and reaches for her hand. "You and me."

"All right then," she says. "Talk to HR or something. I'm gonna hit the gym. Let me know if you want to go to the range later." She squeezes his hand and lets go. 

Clint sits and thinks for a long time. Banner and Rogers and Thor come back, sweaty and covered in dirt. He nods to them on their way through. 

"How goes the day, Clint Barton?" Thor rumbles.

"It's complicated," Clint tells him. "Working through some stuff."

"I am sorry to hear it, Clint Barton," Thor says. "In that case, I hope that the path you must walk is illuminated before you."

"Everything all right?" Rogers asks.

"It's gonna be," Clint tells him, getting up. "Or it won't be. I guess I'll know soon."

He takes the elevator down to Phil's office - the team gets the good views, but Phil's isn't too bad. Phil looks up from his everlasting pile of paperwork and gives Clint a tiny smile. 

"What can I do for you, Barton?"

"You can tell me if I step out of line," Clint tells him. Phil's smile quirks up at one side and his brow furrows in puzzlement. "There are cameras in here, aren't there?"

"Of course," Phil says simply. "Surveillance is part of our security system."

"And you know where they are?"

"Of course," Phil says. 

"Show me," Clint says.

Phil points out the cameras, tiny winking lenses at various points in the room. Clint picks one out and grabs a piece of paper out of Phil's printer and a pen off Phil's desk.

"Barton? Want to tell me what you're doing?" Phil asks.

"No," Clint says. "I want to show you." He scribbles a couple of sentences on the paper and then holds it up for Phil to see. "We're together," he reads. "Deal with it."

"Short and sweet," Phil says. "Not exactly standard-issue."

"Neither are you," Clint says. "Where can I put this that someone will see it?"

Phil motions to a vent. "Tape it to that."

Clint climbs onto a chair and secures the paper to the vent. He climbs down and looks at Phil, who is just watching him with a funny little expression on his face. Clint walks up to him and kisses him, sliding his hand around the back of Phil's head. He's afraid for a moment, that this was the wrong decision, but Phil kisses him back, his hands settling on Clint's hips.

"You know they can still see us," Phil murmurs.

"I'm kind of counting on it," Clint tells him. "Always wondered what it would be like to be watched, instead of doing the watching."

"What are your plans, exactly?" Phil asks.

"The third date's fellatio, right?" Clint jokes. "I'm taking you to dinner later. Think of this as the appetizer."

Phil hesitates.

"It's okay if this isn't okay," Clint says. "But I want you and I don't give a damn who knows it. Don't tell me you're not into the thrill of getting caught."

"No," Phil says. "I was just wondering if my chair or the couch would be better."

"Your chair," Clint decides. "That way if someone comes in, at least there's the desk."

"There are cameras," Phil points out. "I thought that was the point."

"I only want to compromise you a little," Clint says. "I'd rather be able to do this again."

"Me too," Phil says, and Clint grins at him. 

"They can't say a damn thing if I'm the one seducing you," Clint says.

"I'm sure they could," Phil says. "But like you said, then our problems would be over, relatively speaking."

"Get in the chair," Clint tells him with a kiss. "You're military. You ought to take orders better."

"Former military," Phil corrects him, but he sits down in the chair. Clint kneels in front of him - Phil has one of those mats that let your chair roll around easier, and it's a good cushion - and undoes Phil's belt. Phil runs his hands over Clint's forearms and makes a hot little noise of anticipation that makes Clint's stomach lurch with how much he wants Phil, right _fucking_ now. His fingers won't move fast enough to suit him, but Phil doesn't seem to mind. He sits there, touching Clint like he's hypnotized. Clint finally manages the trousers and reaches into Phil's underwear. Phil's already hard, and he's fucking gorgeous in Clint's hand. Phil gasps a little as Clint traces lines up and down Phil's shaft.

"Still want this?" Clint asks.

"Barton, if your mouth isn't on my cock in five seconds, I'm going to put it there myself," Phil tells him. "Abruptly."

"That's what I like to hear," Clint says, and dips his head, wrapping his fingers around the base of Phil's cock. Phil's cock is hot satin under his tongue, and deliciously salty. He curls his tongue around the head first, probing every sensitive spot to find the ones that will make Phil gasp and groan. God, he loves sucking cock, and Phil's most of all. It's intoxicating having Phil at his mercy and knowing that someone in the surveillance office is probably watching this, rapt. _That's right, buddy_ , Clint thinks to their unknown observer, _he's fucking mine._ He takes Phil's cock deeper into his mouth, licking at the shaft, his hand coming up to play with Phil's balls. Phil runs his hands through what there is of Clint's hair, the pressure of his fingers urgent.

"Goddamn, Clint," Phil says, his voice low and rough. "Jesus Christ, the things I'm going to do to you tonight. You're not even going to remember anyone fucked you before I did, because it's going to blow your mind. You're not even going to remember your name. But it's going to be fucking amazing."

Clint raises his head for a moment. "You've got a filthy mouth, boss. I love it."

"Keep going," Phil says. 

"Yessir," Clint tells him, and gets back to work. He takes Phil's cock as deep as he can, just to prove he can, and he loves the way Phil fills up his mouth. He strokes Phil's balls with his fingers and he strokes Phil's shaft with his tongue and this can't have happened to Phil in a while, because he's not holding it together very well, and that's somehow even hotter. The frantic way he clutches at Clint's hair and ears is endearing. Clint lifts his head and then takes Phil deep again, over and over, until Phil's thighs are shivering under Clint's arms and Phil's swearing in a quiet continuous stream of words that also seems to include Clint's name and the word love. Clint smiles as best he can around Phil's cock and keeps going. He squeezes Phil's thigh, telling him it's okay to come, hoping Phil understands, and Phil does. He throws his head back and his hips jolt, shoving against Clint's face. Clint holds on tight, pushing right back, swallowing hot salt and loving every second of it. 

He waits for Phil to stop shaking before he pulls his head away. He carefully tucks Phil back into his underwear and does up Phil's trousers with fingers that tremble a little. God, he's turned on now. He's going to have to hit the showers or something. Or he's got rooms around here somewhere - Tony insisted, though Clint usually just kicks back on the couch in the lounge and just uses them for storage. Maybe he and Phil can christen the bedroom and the living room and the kitchen and the spare room and whatever the fuck else Tony allocated for him.

"Goddamn, Barton," Phil says shakily. 

"I aim to please, sir," Clint says.

"As usual, right on target," Phil tells him, dragging him up for a kiss. He doesn't seem to care that Clint's still licking salt off his lips. 

"I don't know if I can wait until dinner," Clint tells him.

"Excellent timing," Phil tells him. "It's my lunch break. Where are we going?"

"I know a little place right upstairs," Clint tells him. "It probably has food."

"Lead the way," Phil says, adjusting his belt.

They get an email from Fury as they step off the elevator. "Don't fuck it up or I'll have to reassign you," it reads. "Until then, mazel tov."


End file.
